


I'll Take My Heart Back

by vocalfew



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gore, Other, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocalfew/pseuds/vocalfew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NO MORE MISTER NICE JOSH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Leave the Dead To Die

After months and months of being far from home, I couldn't really tell you exactly how all of this started.  
The only thing I knew right now was that door, the steel, however many inches thick whopping army of a door, the stood between me and them.  
You could have asked me how it is I got here on my own and I honestly couldn't tell you without starting from the very beginning.

The start of this mess was too far back to even begin to remember.  
Everything is still really unclear, and some parts are filled with so many gaps, even if I tried, no one would get the truth,  
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

If you're reading this somehow, please help me. My name is Josh Dun, and I'm alone.  
I'm in the basement of some department store, and the only thing I have left in my name is this grimy steel pipe,  
a few more sips of redbull, and a stale bag of doritos.

I can't find any of the people I was with previously, and I seriously doubt that any of them are still alive. If I stay  
down here any longer, I'm probably not going to make it. I have no idea how to get out of there, I have no idea how are out there,  
and I'm not going to take my chances.

I wasn't in this store when it all started, thankfully. I was pigeonholed back into this place  
after running from a few of them. A couple of people i met along the way were here on a supply run when it happened.  
A few of them heard us rummaging around and we nearly got mobbed.

I don't know how they do it, but they're fast, angry, and hungry. Last time I checked, I wasn't maniac food, and that wasn't on my agenda at all today.

After a bit of searching down here, I realized that this place did have backup cameras that ran through the  
whole store, and this place ran on emergency power.  
I tried the phone lines, and they were dead. I tried to charge my cell, but there was no point if I couldn't reach anyone. I'd been  
watching the cameras for hours, hoping they'd clear enough of a path to let me through, but they all seemed to stick around near the door.  
Maybe they heard me.

My time spent locked up in here gave me a lot of time to think. Not all of it was good, sometimes  
none of it was practical at all. I thought about who I was before all of this compared to who I was now,  
and past me would look at future me and deem me a monster. I was numb to all of the blood and gore now. Before this steel pipe, I wouldn't have hurt a fly.  
It felt empowering, almost. Sinking heavy metal into mashed skulls, the satisfying crunch of their bones as they crumpled to the ground.  
It may have been one of the few things keeping me in the game.

Before all of this I was a drummer. I let out all of my aggression in a healthy way, through music.  
I loved tiring myself out, hitting my drums as hard as I could until my arms felt like overcooked ramen.

The singer of the band was who I started out with, and now who I ended up without.  
We both had to part after being trapped up in some dingy tree house, but that was too long ago. Sometimes I miss him, and I want to find him again.  
Maybe that's why I'm still alive. I want to see my best friend again, even if he's messed up in more ways than he already was.

It's a long shot, and he's probably one of them by now, but honestly,  
believing that he's still alive keeps the innocence in me. It helps me reminisce to better things, before all of this mess.

I wonder if he forgives me for leaving him back there. He urged me to save myself, and I tried my best,  
but leaving him behind wasn't an option to me back then. I wish I knew if he was okay or not. I just want to tell him that i'm sorry.


	2. Sometimes Quiet Is Violent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i saw the opportunity

"Got any good stuff?"

I heaved the giant pack off of the bed of the truck, pulling the tethers to open it.

"Damn place only had everything we got burnt out on." I sighed, wiping a bead of sweat from my temple.

"I've never said this before in my entire life, but I would kill for a steak."

"Being vegetarian don't come in so handy in the middle of the apocalypse now, does it, darlin'?"

"Real funny." She glared.

The passenger side door to the beat up Chevy swung open, revealing a lanky man with tired eyes and caramel skin.  
He looked like he'd just gotten out of church, despite all of the blood stains. His pretty boy button up didn't do very well at keeping away a bite.

"And who's this anorexic motherfucker?" Howdy squinted, his mouth turning down into a scowl. The man ducked his head like an abused puppy,  
and didn't look any of us in the eye.

"Dunno his name," Monica chimed in as she buried the toe of her boot in the dirt, "he doesn't talk."

"Sure as hell saved our asses, though." I added.

I could tell by the look on his face, Howdy wasn't too pleased by another addition to the group. He sort of ran the show around here,  
deciding whether a person in our group got kicked off at the next stop, or fought along with us. It was strange, though, he could usually tell if they would be an asset right away but this time he looked unsure.

There weren't very many of us, just Monica, Howdy's daughter. She looked a whole lot like Megan Fox, just a little bit more rough around the edges.  
She was a big sweetheart, despite her know-it-all stance. A little bit younger than me, but she was already dropping bodies like she was getting paid ten bucks an hour.

Howdy was a redneck in his mid fifties who was addicted to chewing tobacco (strictly long cut, all the other stuff is pansy shit.. Or so he says) and firing off guns.  
He got bored easy when it got too quiet and told us about his prison days, what he called The Rock. The man was as skinny as a lamppost, you wouldn't have  
guessed that he had made it in or out of prison. He had salt and pepper whiskers that reminded me of my grandfather, and when he smiled, it made me feel a  
little less tense. None of us know his real name, and even Monica said that she grew up calling him Howdy. Maybe it was a prison name.

Then, of course, there was me, Ophelia. I wasn't good at much, but Howdy pointed out that I have a lot of pent up anger, and that's why he lets  
me get all of the close combat work cause I need to let off a lot of steam. I don't stand very tall, hardly a whaling five foot and three inches. Not enough to get by,  
but just enough to fit through tight spaces that not everyone else can. I was hardly something before all of this, and it wasn't much, but I made stuff.  
Hair accessories and bows, pretty tiaras with fake flowers on it for little girl's birthday parties.

Now of course, there's this guy with the innocent, chocolate doe eyes who can probably shoot out a deer blindfolded with his hands behind his back.  
He didn't speak at all, but he saved us, and he was cargo worth keeping in my eyes. He had tattoos down his left arm, black bands that varied in width,  
finished off by three thin lines around his wrist. Wonky shapes fell along his right, along with a set of roman numerals on his bicep. He tucked away his arm before I could get another good look.

"I'munna call him Quiet." Howdy decided as he sized him up somberly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and you bet i muthafuckin took that shit.


	3. Putting My Fingers To My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a piece of sadistic garbage and I love every goddamn minute of this.  
> I seriously love writing this for whoever is reading it, and please let me know if you still want me to keep this up! I'm already three chapters strong. Feedback makes me stronger. It's like muscle milk. Except It's words that were typed on a keyboard, and not something that I can drink. I'm lactose intolerant.. Erm, Enjoy.

**_Thud. Swing. Thud. Swing. Again. Thud. Swing. Thud._ **

I hoped that the nightmare would be over if I blinked hard enough, but as I looked around, I was met with a terrible fate.

Bloody, disfigured and disassembled bodies were strewn around the room, and there lay Mark, holding forearm like it was about to fall off.  
He groaned in agony as blood poured from the open wound in his arm. I knew this would happen, how did I know this would happen? It wasn't like the rest of our group was slowly hacked away from us painlessly, and now I was losing the only person I had left. I heard more shuffling from upstairs, and knew that I had to work fast, or else we'd both be goners without even putting up a fight.

"Tyler, no. Go." he demanded breathlessly, trying his best to maintain the pressure on his arm to quit the bleeding.  
I could feel my chest tighten up as I double checked over my shoulder towards the staircase.

There was no way I was going to leave him to die in the middle of a death riddled basement. I could hear my pulse in my ears. There were more things coming, and the flow wasn't going to stop until there was nothing left down here. He wasn't gonna be runner food, and neither was I, so I slung his arm around my shoulder and tried my best to help him to his feet. He protested, making himself a deadweight beneath me to force me to drop him.

"Mark," I snapped in annoyance. The footsteps were coming closer from above, and we were running out of time.

"Kill me," he ordered.

"What?"

"Kill me, or i'll scream and they'll hear us down here."

"You're _not_ serious-"

"My life for yours, or my life AND yours." He urged out, wincing at the pain.

I couldn't tell before, but tears were streaming down my face, and my voice quaked. I felt heavy, like I was being buried beneath billions of mattresses. My hands were trembling, the axe in my hand nearly slipping from my hands. Mark was glaring daggers now and his face was growing pale from the loss of blood. He was shaking too, but now he wasn't pressing down on his arm. He couldn't really be okay with dying down here. The look on his face was one I've never seen before. We've never been faced with such a serious choice of life or death. I felt sick to my stomach. We've been friends ever since I can remember, and now we were sitting in a stranger's basement debating on whether I should lob off my best friend's head. I wiped at my face, white knuckling the wooden handle. I couldn't do this. I wasn't going to, but the way he begged for death was sobering. He was begging for me to end it. He knew he would die from the bite; he and I both knew that, but he wasn't going to sit through the pain of turning into one of those creeps and risk wanting to make me dinner while I slept.

"Please, don't make me do this, man." I sobbed out, my chest feeling as if it were caving in. My entire body was becoming an avalanche. I wanted so badly to curl up and let them come. I wanted to let them tear us both to bits.  
  
"Shut the hell up and go find Josh for me." he dragged out, breathing out a sarcastic laugh.

I nodded slowly, stepping closer to him. The shuffling from upstairs was now spread out, and some were making their way down the basement.

I shut my eyes for a moment, gritting my teeth as I raised the axe overhead.

  
  
One..  
  
  
  
Two..  
  


I let out a heavy breath as I heaved the weapon down, hearing a soft _shunk_.

Immediately, I released the axe and it stood erect in Mark's skull, the handle jutting out right in front of me. Mark was slumped back against the wall, and blood still streamed from his arm. Dark, thick red tricked down over his face, beading around his nose and chin.

What I did next happened in small flashes of memory, from grabbing the axe again, to hitting whatever came at me. I kept chopping what was already down, hacking at the monsters that tore apart my family and the ones I loved.

A pair of cold hands gripped my shoulders and tugged me backwards, forcing me to the ground. In a shock, I loosened my grip on the axe and cried out as i was yanked from my fingers.

I yelled out in protest, but as I opened my eyes, I was met with the living.

"Man, you're a fucking lunatic." one remarked, her brows knitting together as she inspected my bloody axe.

"Well this lunatic just saved our lives, so." another voice came from behind me. It was soft and feminine. Her grip didn't match her voice at all.

The pair of arms let me go, and motioned for the shorter girl to return my axe to me. I held it almost protectively, then kept my gaze towards the ground.

"You got a group?" 

I didn't reply.

A silence fell upon the four of us.

"We'll take you downtown. i know a shelter that'll clean you up, pretty boy." The girl snorted.  
  


_Mark, they're making me leave now._  
  


_It's been a good ride, buddy._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me with a kudos if you haven't fallen asleep yet, my dudes.


	4. I'm Begging You To Be My Escape

Running out of food. Running out of water. Out of air. Out of motivation.   
There was no doubt in my mind that I would be stuck down here if I didn't figure SOMETHING out. This stupid room would be my demise.   
I've come so far, just to die in a room.  
Think, Josh, think.

My stomach was too buy drowning out my thoughts to see clearly. The only thing I could think about was tearing into another fresh bag of chips. Food. Glorious food.

I began to remember my mom's voice from the dinner table. She gave the whole, " _there are starving kids in Africa who would die for that last bit of peas, Joshua_ ," speech and now I understand what she means.

Should have eaten those freakin' peas, maybe I would be less hungry now.  
 _Stupid idea._

I felt like I was going crazy, talking to the backup cameras as if they were my best friends from High school. They were the only things in there that kept me going. Sometimes I would see a woman limp through the camping aisle, dragging her obliterated foot down the tiles, the only thing keeping it attached to her ankle was dark, decaying muscle.   
There were trails of blood down nearly every runway along with opened cans of now rotting food, broken merchandise, and sometimes clothing, packs of gum, and boxes of bandages.

Every day I saw the same scenes over and over. Hollow, mindless, hungry bodies lugging themselves along, probably just as hungry as I was.

Looking at the cameras did help me plot most of my exit, though. I did the math on how they were all located, which way pointed towards the door, and sometimes the routes of the dweebs waiting for me out there.  
Maybe it was just false hope, though. The cameras were confusing, sometimes the would spazz out and turn to static. Every day I got hungrier, and every day I became more and more desperate to figure out my escape.

There were so many blind spots in the cameras. So many holes I fell through trying to roll out my way to leave. There was nothing on the shelves I could use as a weapon. Nothing that could back me up if I ever lost my own weapon.

This was useless. There were so many things I had to do, and I had so little to work with. I hate these walls. Every single flat surface in this room made me bitter, hateful, and enraged. I tugged at my hair a few times, paced the room until my legs were sore, and tore the room apart as much as I could. I left the cameras, though. I needed those cameras.

The one morning I opened my eyes, I could see something dart out quickly past the left camera. They burst through the entrance, looking around quickly.   
At first, i thought it was just another one of them. After watching them move, they seemed more alive than anything else. A man held a large, bloodied machete in his hand and darted towards the camera on my left.

I leaned forward and rubbed my eyes.

The man ran with everything he had in him, darting through the aisles with angry, swift swipes at the dead that lunged out towards him. It was fluent, smooth and fast.   
I couldn't much see his face under his hoodie, but as it fell around his neck, my heart jumped.

I knew him.

"Tyler..." I muttered under my breath, watching him slice and dice his way through to find only empty promises on the shelves. He worked quickly, causing me to leap from my chair.

I had to go. I had to go get him now. I saw him, that was Tyler, I know it was him, I know it was my best friend. There was no explanation on how he made it here, but he did, and I had to go. I had to go now. My heart slammed in my chest, and I could hardly breathe. The only thing that ran through my mind was that face I saw on the cameras. It was him. It was definitely him.

I nearly squealed like a little girl. I was ready, I would cut down a million of those things for him. ten million. A thousand million. A billion million jillion.   
I really shouldn't have been this happy in the middle of an apocalypse, but I was starving, losing hope, and going insane.

I froze to check which camera he was on, leaning in closely to watch.   
One man hurled himself forward, and Tyler didn't hesitate to shove the blade clean into his head. My soul sang.   
From behind him, two more approached, and as the man fell to the ground, he turned.

I shouted at the screen for him to go, and he slashed up down, left and right.   
With a small stagger, he fell backwards.  
  


No.  
  


The angry forms crouched over him, reaching.  
  


No.  
  


I could almost hear his screams as he writhed and tried his best to push them off and get away, but they were biting, and blood was spraying out from his neck.  
  


My ears rang.  
  


_No._   
  


My blood ran cold.  
  


_No._   
  


_No._   
  


****_NO._  
  


My knees buckled and I let myself shrink to the ground.  
  


"No.."  
  


My eyes clouded over with tears as the rest of him was torn away. The men kept tearing. They kept ripping.  
  


"No, no, no, no, _God_ , no.."  
  


He was there. He was standing there, he was fighting. He had so much life, so much spirit.  
  


" ** _PLEASE, GOD, NO_**."  
  


My head spun. I felt too light. My head collided with the tile, and my chest felt full, too full, as if it were filled with hot air.  
  


I was ready to burst.  
  


I was numb.  
  


" ** _PLEASE._** "  
  


Echoed around me in a loud shriek. It was my voice.  
  


Tyler was there. _He was alive._  
  


" ** _Tyler, PLEASE._** "  
  
  


_And then he wasn't._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i sorry? nope.

**Author's Note:**

> If this gets some sort of feedback, maybe it'll give me motivation for more chapters. I wanna know what you think. I don't wanna feel like I'm writing for an audience of zero. If you want to read more, tell me. I like that shit.


End file.
